11 страница. I should have thought Roger would prefer to go about with his Eton friends, said Dolly.

" I should have thought Roger would prefer to go about with his Eton friends," said Dolly.

"Old cow," thought Julia. "Old cow."

But when luncheon was over she asked her to come up to her ro-om.

"I'll get into bed and you can talk to me while I'm resting. A good

old girls' gossip, that's what I want."

She put her arm affectionately round Dolly's vast waist and led her upstairs. For a while they spoke of indifferent things, clothes and servants, make-up and scandal; then Julia, leaning on her elbow, lo-oked at Dolly with confiding eyes.

"Dolly, there's something I want to talk to you about. I want advi-ce and you're the only person in the world whose advice I would ta-ke. I know I can trust you."

"Of course, darling."

"It appears that people are saying rather disagreeable things abo-ut me. Someone's been to Michael and told him that there's a lot of gossip about me and poor Tom Fennell."

Though her eyes still wore the charming and appealing look that she knew Dolly found irresistible, she watched her closely for a start or for some change in her expression. She saw nothing.

"Who told Michael?"

"I don't know. He won't say. You know what he is when he starts being a perfect gentleman."

She wondered if she only imagined that Dolly's features at this slightly relaxed.

"I want the truth, Dolly."

"I'm so glad you've asked me, darling. You know how I hate to in-terfere in other people's business and if you hadn't brought the mat-ter up yourself nothing would have induced me to mention it."

"My dear, if I don't know that you're a loyal friend, who does?" Dolly slipped off her shoes and settled down massively in her cha-

ir. Julia never took her eyes off her.

"You know how malicious people are. You've always led such a quiet, regular life. You've gone out so little, and then only with Mic-hael or Charles Tamerley. He's different; of course everyone knows he's adored you for ages. It seems so funny that all of a sudden you should run around all over the place with a clerk in the firm that do-es your accounts."

"He isn't exactly that. His father has bought him a share in the firm and he's a junior partner."

"Yes, he gets four hundred a year." "How d'you know?" asked Julia quickly.

This time she was certain that Dolly was disconcerted.

"You persuaded me to go to his firm about my income- tax. One of the head partners told me. It seems a little strange that on that he should be able to have a flat, dress the way he does and take peop-le to night clubs."

"For all I know his father may make him an allowance."

"His father's a solicitor in the North of London. You know very well that if he's bought him a partnership he isn't making him an allo-wance as well."

"Surely you don't imagine that I'm keeping him," said Julia, with a ringing laugh.

"I don't imagine anything, darling. Other people do."

Julia liked neither the words Dolly spoke nor the way she said them. But she gave no sign of her uneasiness.

"It's too absurd. He's Roger's friend much more than mine. Of co-urse I've been about with him. I felt I was getting too set. I'm tired of just going to the theatre and taking care of myself. It's no life. After all if I don't enjoy myself a little now I never shall. I'm getting on, you know, Dolly, it's no good denying it. You know what Michael is; of course he's sweet, but he is a bore."

"No more a bore than he's ever been," said Dolly acidly.

"I should have thought I was the last person anyone would dream would have an affair with a boy twenty years younger than myself."

"Twenty- five," corrected Dolly. "I should have thought so too. Un-fortunately he's not very discreet."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, he's told Avice Crichton that he'll get her a part in your next play."

"Who the devil is Avice Crichton?"

"Oh, she's a young actress I know. She's as pretty as a picture." "He's only a silly kid. I suppose he thinks he can get round Micha-

el. You know what Michael is with his little bits."

"He says he can get you to do anything he wants. He says you just eat out of his hand."

It was lucky for Julia that she was a good actress. For a second her heart stood still. How could he say a thing like that? The fool. The blasted fool. But recovering herself at once she laughed lightly.

"What nonsense! I don't believe a word of it."

"He's a very commonplace, rather vulgar man. It's not surprising if all the fuss you've made of him has turned his head."

Julia, smiling good-naturedly, looked at her with ingenuous eyes. "But, darling, you don't think he's my lover, do you?"

"If I don't, I'm the only person who doesn't." "And do you?"

For a minute Dolly did not answer. They looked at one another steadily, their hearts were black with hatred; but Julia still smiled.

"If you give me your solemn word of honour that he isn't, of cour-se I'll believe you."

Julia dropped her voice to a low, grave note. It had a true ring of sincerity:

"I've never told you a lie yet, Dolly, and I'm too old to begin now. I give you my solemn word of honour that Tom has never been anyt-hing more to me than just a friend."

"You take a great weight off my mind."

Julia knew that Dolly did not believe her and Dolly was aware that

Julia knew it. She went on.

"But in that case, for your own sake, Julia dear, do be sensible. Don't go about with this young man any more. Drop him."

"Oh, I couldn't do that. That would be an admission that people were right in what they thought. After all, my conscience is clear. I can afford to hold my head high. I should despise myself if I allowed my behaviour to be influenced by malicious gossip."

Dolly slipped her feet back into her shoes and getting her lipstick out of her bag did her lips.

"Well, dear, you're old enough to know your own mind." They parted coldly.

But one or two of Dolly's remarks had been somewhat of a shock to Julia. They rankled. It was disconcerting that gossip had so nearly reached the truth. But did it matter? Plenty of women had lovers and who bothered? And an actress. No one expected an actress to be a pattern of propriety.

"It's my damned virtue. That's at the bottom of the trouble."

She had acquired the reputation of a perfectly virtuous woman, whom the tongue of scandal could not touch, and now it looked as though her reputation was a prison that she had built round herself. But there was worse. What had Tom meant by saying that she ate out of his hand? That deeply affronted her. Silly little fool. How dare he? She didn't know what to do about it either. She would have liked to tax him with it. What was the good? He would deny it. The only thing was to say nothing; it had all gone too far now, she must ac-cept everything. It was no good not facing the truth, he didn't love her, he was her lover because it gratified his self-esteem, because it brought him various things he cared for and because in his own eyes at least it gave him a sort of position.

"If I had any sense I'd chuck him." She gave an angry laugh. "It's easy to say that. I love him."

The strange thing was that when she looked into her heart it was not Julia Lambert the woman who resented the affront, she didn't care for herself, it was the affront to Julia Lambert the actress that stung her. She had often felt that her talent, genius the critics called it, but that was a very grand word, her gift, if you like, was not really herself, not even part of her, but something outside that used her, Julia Lambert the woman, in order to express itself. It was a strange, immaterial personality that seemed to descend upon her and it did things through her that she did not know she was capable of doing. She was an ordinary, prettyish, ageing woman. Her gift had neither age nor form. It was a spirit that played on her body as the violinist plays on his violin. It was the slight to that that galled her.

She tried to sleep. She was so accustomed to sleeping in the af-ternoon that she could always drop off the moment she composed herself, but on this occasion she turned restlessly from side to side

and sleep would not come. At last she looked at the clock. Tom of-ten got back from his office soon after five. She yearned for him; in his arms was peace, when she was with him nothing else mattered. She dialled his number.

"Hulloa? Yes. Who is it?"

She held the receiver to her ear, panic-stricken. It was Roger's vo-ice. She hung up.

NOR did Julia sleep well that night. She was awake when she he-ard Roger come in, and turning on her light she saw that it was four. She frowned. He came clattering down the stone stairs next morning just when she was beginning to think of getting up.

"Can I come in, mummy?" "Come in."

He was still in his pyjamas and dressing-gown. She smiled at him because he looked so fresh and young.

"You were very late last night." "No, not very. I was in by one."

"Liar. I looked at my clock. It was four."

"All right. It was four then," he agreed cheerfully. "What on earth were you doing?"

"We went on to some place after the show and had supper. We danced."

"Who with?"

"A couple of girls we picked up. Tom knew them before." "What were their names?"

"One was called Jill and one was called Joan. I don't know what their other names were. Joan's on the stage. She asked me if I co-uldn't get her an understudy* in your next play."

At all events neither of them was Avice Crichton. That name had been in her thoughts ever since Dolly had mentioned it.

"But those places aren't open till four."

"No, we went back to Tom's flat. Tom made me promise I wo-uldn't tell you. He said you'd be furious."

"Oh, my dear, it takes a great deal more than that to make me fu-rious. I promise you I won't say a word."

"If anyone's to blame I am. I went to see Tom yesterday afternoon and we arranged it then. All this stuff about love that one hears abo-ut in plays and reads in novels. I'm nearly eighteen. I thought I ought to see for myself what it was all about."

Julia sat up in bed and looked at Roger with wide, inquiring eyes. "Roger, what do you mean?"

He was composed and serious.

"Tom said he knew a couple of girls who were all right. He's had

them both himself. They live together and so we phoned and asked them to meet us after the show. He told them I was a virgin and they'd better toss up for me. When we got back to the flat he took Jill into the bedroom and left me the sitting-room and Joan."

For the moment she did not think of Tom, she was so disturbed at what Roger was saying.

"I don't think it's so much really. I don't see it's anything to make all that fuss about."

She could not speak. The tears filled her eyes and ran quickly down her face.

"Mummy, what's the matter? Why are you crying?" "But you're a little boy."

He came over to her and sitting on the side of her bed took her in his arms.

"Darling, don't cry. I wouldn't have told you if I'd thought it was going to upset you. After all, it had to happen sooner or later."

"But so soon. So soon. It makes me feel so old."

"Not you, darling. Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her in-finite variety."

She giggled through her tears.

"You fool, Roger, d'you think Cleopatra would have liked what that silly old donkey said of her? You might have waited a little lon-ger."

"It's just as well I didn't. I know all about it now. To tell you the truth I think it's rather disgusting."

She sighed deeply. It was a comfort to feel him holding her so tenderly. But she felt terribly sorry for herself.

"You're not angry with me, darling?" he asked.

"Angry? No. But if it had to come I wish it hadn't been quite so matter of fact. You talk as though it had just been a rather curious experiment."

"I suppose it was in a way." She gave him a little smile.

"And you really think that was love?"

"Well, it's what most people mean by it, isn't it?"

"No, they don't, they mean pain and anguish, shame, ecstasy, he-aven and hell; they mean the sense of living more intensely, and unutterable boredom; they mean freedom and slavery; they mean peace and unrest."

Something in the stillness with which he listened to her made her give him a glance through her eyelashes. There was a curious exp-ression in his eyes. She did not know what it meant. It was as tho-ugh he were gravely listening to a sound that came from a long way off.

"It doesn't sound as though it were much fun," he murmured. She took his smooth face in her hands and kissed his lips.

"I'm a fool, aren't I? You see, I still see you as a little baby boy that I'm holding in my arms."

A twinkle shone in his eyes.

"What are you grinning at, you ape?"

"It made a damned good photograph, didn't it?" She could not but laugh.

"You pig. You filthy pig."

"I say, about the understudy, is there any chance for Joan?" "Tell her to come and see me one day."

But when Roger left her she sighed. She was depressed. She felt very lonely. Her life had always been so full and so exciting that she had never had the time to busy herself much with Roger. She got in a state, of course, when he had whooping-cough or measles, but he was for the most part in robust health, and then he occupied a ple-asant place in the background of her consciousness. But she had al-ways felt that he was there to be attended to when she was inclined and she had often thought it would be nice when he was old enough really to share her interests. It came to her as a shock now to realize that, without ever having really possessed him, she had lost him. Her lips tightened when she thought of the girl who had taken him from her.

"An understudy. My foot."

Her pain absorbed her so that she could not feel the grief she might have felt from her discovery of Tom's perfidy. She had always known in her bones that he was unfaithful to her. At his age, with his wanton temperament, with herself tied down by her performances at the theatre, by all manner of engagements which her position for-ced upon her, it was plain that he had ample opportunity to gratify his inclinations. She had shut her eyes. All she asked was that she should not know. This was the first time that an actual fact had been thrust upon her notice.

"I must just put up with it," she sighed. Thoughts wandered thro-ugh her mind. "It's like lying and not knowing you're lying, that's what's fatal; I suppose it's better to be a fool and know it than a fool and not know it."

TOM went to Eastbourne with his family for Christmas. Julia had two performances on Boxing Day, so the Gosselyns stayed in town; they went to a large party at the Savoy that Dolly de Vries gave to see the New Year in; and a few days later Roger set off for Vienna. While he was in London Julia saw little of Tom. She did not ask Roger what they did when they tore about the town together, she did not want to know, she steeled herself not to think and distracted her mind by going to as many parties as she could. And there was al-

ways her acting; when once she got into the theatre her anguish, her humiliation, her jealousy were allayed. It gave her a sense of tri-umphant power to find, as it were in her pot of grease paint, another personality that could be touched by no human griefs. With that re-fuge always at hand she could support anything.

On the day that Roger left, Tom rang her up from his office.

"Are you doing anything tonight? What about going out on the binge?"

"No, I'm busy."

It was not true, but the words slipped out of her mouth, indepen-dent of her will.

"Oh, are you? Well, what about tomorrow?"

If he had expressed disappointment, if he had asked her to cut the date he supposed she had, she might have had strength to bre-ak with him then and there. His casualness defeated her.

"Tomorrow's all right."

"O.K. I'll fetch you at the theatre after the show. Bye-bye."

Julia was ready and waiting when he was shown into her dressing-room. She was strangely nervous. His face lit up when he saw her, and when Evie went out of the room for a moment he caught her in his arms and warmly kissed her on the lips.

"I feel all the better for that," he laughed.

You would never have thought to look at him, so young, fresh and ingenuous, in such high spirits, that he was capable of giving her so much pain. You would never have thought that he was so deceitful. It was quite plain that he had not noticed that for more than a fort-night he had hardly seen her.

("Oh, God, if I could only tell him to go to hell.")

But she looked at him with a gay smile in her lovely eyes. "Where are we going?"

"I've got a table at Quag's. They've got a new turn there, an Ame-rican conjurer, who's grand."

She talked with vivacity all through supper. She told him about the various parties she had been to, and the theatrical functions she had not been able to get out of, so that it seemed only on account of her engagements that they had not met. It disconcerted her to per-ceive that he took it as perfectly natural. He was glad to see her, that was plain, he was interested in what she had been doing and in the people she had seen, but it was plain also that he had not mis-sed her. To see what he would say she told him that she had had an offer to take the play in which she was acting to New York. She told him the terms that had been suggested.

"They're marvellous," he said, his eyes glittering. "What a snip. You can't lose and you may make a packet."

"The only thing is, I don't much care for leaving London."

"Why on earth not? I should have thought you'd jump at it. The

play's had a good long run, for all you know it'll be pretty well thro-ugh by Easter, and if you want to make a stab at America you co-uldn't have a better vehicle."

"I don't see why it shouldn't run through the summer. Besides, I don't like strangers very much. I'm fond of my friends."

"I think that's silly. Your friends'll get along without you all right. And you'll have a grand time in New York."

Her gay laugh was very convincing.

"One would think you were terribly anxious to get rid of me."

"Of course I should miss you like hell. But it would only be for a few months. If I had a chance like that I'd jump at it."

But when they had finished supper and the commissionaire had called up a taxi for them he gave the address of the flat as if it were an understood thing that they should go back to it. In the taxi he put his arm round her waist and kissed her, and later, when she lay in his arms, in the little single bed, she felt that all the pain she had suffered during that last fortnight was not too great a price to pay for the happy peace that filled her heart.

Julia continued to go to the smart supper places and to night clubs with Tom. If people wanted to think he was her lover, let them; she was past caring. But it happened more than once that he was engaged when she wanted him to go somewhere with her. It had spread around among Julia's grander friends that Tom was very cle-ver at helping one with one's income-tax returns. The Dennorants had asked him down to the country for a week-end, and here he had met a number of persons who were glad to take advantage of his technical knowledge. He began to get invitations from people whom Julia did not know. Acquaintances would mention him to her.

"You know Tom Fennell, don't you? He's very clever, isn't he? I hear he's saved the Gillians hundreds of pounds on their income-tax."

Julia was none too pleased. It was through her that he had got as-ked to parties that he wanted to go to. It began to look as if in this respect he could do without her. He was pleasant and unassuming, very well-dressed now, and with a fresh, clean look that was enga-ging; he was able to save people money; Julia knew the world which he was so anxious to get into well enough to realize that he would soon establish himself in it. She had no very high opinion of the mo-rals of the women he would meet there and she could name more than one person of title who would be glad to snap him up. Julia's comfort was that they were all as mean as cat's meat. Dolly had sa-id he was only earning four hundred a year; he certainly couldn't live in those circles on that.

Julia had with decision turned down the American offer before ever she mentioned it to Tom; their play was playing to very good business. But one of those inexplicable slumps that occasionally af-

fect the theatre now swept over London and the takings suddenly dropped. It looked as though they would not be able to carry on long after Easter. They had a new play on which they set great hopes. It was called Nowadays, and the intention had been to produce it early in the autumn. It had a great part for Julia and the advantage of one that well suited Michael. It was the sort of play that might easily run a year. Michael did not much like the idea of producing it in May, with the summer coming on, but there seemed no help for it and he began looking about for a cast.

One afternoon, during the interval at a matinee, Evie brought a note in to Julia. She was surprised to see Roger's handwriting.

DEAR MOTHER,

This is to introduce to you Miss Joan Denver who I talked to you about. She's awfully keen on getting in the Siddons Theatre and wo-uld be quite satisfied with an understudy however small.

Your affectionate son, ROGER

Julia smiled at the formal way in which he wrote; she was tickled because he was so grown up as to try to get jobs for his girl friends. Then she suddenly remembered who Joan Denver was. Joan and Jill. She was the girl who had seduced poor Roger. Her face went grim. But she was curious to see her.

"Is George there?" George was the doorkeeper. Evie nodded and opened the door.

"George." He came in.

"Is the lady who brought this letter here now?" "Yes, miss."

"Tell her I'll see her after the play."

She wore in the last act an evening dress with a train; it was a very grand dress and showed her beautiful figure to advantage. She wore diamonds in her dark hair and diamond bracelets on her arms. She looked, as indeed the part required, majestic. She received Joan Denver the moment she had taken her last call. Julia could in the twinkling of an eye leap from her part into private life, but now wit-hout an effort she continued to play the imperious, aloof, stately and well- bred woman of the play.

"I've kept you waiting so long I thought I wouldn't keep you till I'd got changed."..

Her cordial smile was the smile of a queen; her graciousness kept you at a respectful distance. In a glance she had taken in the young girl who entered her dressing -room. She was young, with a pretty lit-tle face and a snub nose, a good deal made-up and not very well made-up.

"Her legs are too short," thought Julia. "Very second-rate."

She had evidently put on her best clothes and the same glance had told Julia all about them.

("Shaftesbury Avenue. Off the nail.")

The poor thing was at the moment frightfully nervous. Julia made her sit down and offered her a cigarette.

"There are matches by your side."

She saw her hands tremble when she tried to strike one. It broke and she rubbed a second three times against the box before she co-uld get it to light.

("If Roger could only see her now! Cheap rouge, cheap lipstick, and scared out of her wits. Gay little thing, he thought she was.")

"Have you been on the stage long, Miss - I'm so sorry I've forgot-ten your name."

"Joan Denver." Her throat was dry and she could hardly speak. Her cigarette went out and she held it helplessly. She answered Julia's question. "Two years."

"How old are you?" "Nineteen."

("That's a lie. You're twenty-two if you're a day.") "You know my son, don't you?"

"Yes."

"He's just left Eton. He's gone to Vienna to learn German. Of cour-se he's very young, but his father and I thought it would be good for him to spend a few months abroad before going up to Cambridge. And what parts have you played? Your cigarette's gone out. Won't you have another?"

"Oh, it's all right, thanks. I've been playing on tour, but I'm fright-fully anxious to be in town." Despair gave her courage and she utte-red the speech she had evidently prepared. "I've got the most tre-mendous admiration for you, Miss Lambert. I always say you're the greatest actress on the stage. I've learnt more from you than I did all the years I was at the R.A.D.A.* My greatest ambition is to be in your theatre, Miss Lambert, and if you could see your way to giving me a little something, I know it would be the most wonderful chance a girl could have."

"Will you take off your hat?"

Joan Denver took the cheap little hat off her head and with a qu-ick gesture shook out her close-cropped curls.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04